One Word
by sadlady
Summary: These two are so attuned to each other sometimes all it takes is one word


Usual Disclaimer

I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.

I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.

ONE WORD

Bodie rolled over, and looked blearily at his partner. They had ended up at the Feathers where they finished a bottle of port and several whiskies before staggering to Doyle's flat – it being the closest – and collapsing together on the bed. Sometime in the night Bodie had tumbled out of bed and just made it to the bathroom, where he parted company with most of the alcohol. Doyle had slept on, oblivious to his friend's suffering.

Now, dishevelled, unhampered by nightwear and still fast asleep, Doyle looked irresistable. Bodie refused to give in to the temptation of running his hand down Doyle's body – to be honest he wasn't sure if the bloke with the trip hammer in his head would approve. He settled for prodding the sleeping form.

'Ray?'

A snuffle in reply. Doyle rolled over and absently rubbed his chest. His eyes, clear and sparkling spoke of a good night's sleep and no effects from the quantity of alcohol he'd consumed. He sat up, the covers falling away and looked at the ashen face next to him.

'Tea?'

'Hungover.'

'Coffee?'

'Better.'

Bodie nodded and removed his arm from his partner's chest. The morning sun fell across the bed weakly, its light obscured by the heavy curtains.

'Breakfast?'

'Mm.'

'Eggs?'

'Two.'

Doyle rolled out of bed and ran a hand through his hair. He yawned loudly and sauntered over to the window, where he drew back the curtains. The sun flooded the room, bright and warm, throwing his naked body into sharp contrast. The light caught Bodie full on. He flung a hand across his eyes.

'Ouch.'

Doyle laughed at his lover's discomfort and left the room. Bodie heard the whoosh of water into the kettle, the banging of pans on the cooker. Soon, the welcoming smell of toast, eggs and bacon and coffee wafted into the room. Bodie sighed to himself and snuggled further under the covers. Any effort to attempt a vertical stance was going to be hard work. He felt awful, and didn't dare to look in the mirror.

Doyle bounced back into the bedroom full of _joie de vivre_. He put a large mug of coffee next to Bodie before gently stroking the night bearded face.

'Rough?'

'Headache.'

Doyle recalled the marathon drinking session – a celebration of a miniscule pay rise and news that the squad would have their accommodation upgraded – something George Cowley had fought for. His argument that his staff needed more than the run down and dowdy homes they were usually given had been aceepted by the financial committee, in recognition of the fact CI5 operatives were a special resource and deserved to be treated as such. The news was greeted with delight by the agents. Doyle fervently hoped for some form of heating in his next property.

He came back to the present as Bodie reached across him for the coffee. Doyle took a sharp intake of breath as his partner's hand drifted over his belly.

'Naughty.'

Bodie looked up at him and smiled. Doyle kissed his lover on the top of his head and left the room.

He returned a couple of minutes later carrying a large tray. Bodie's mouth watered at the array of bacon, eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes sitting on the plate. Alongside sat another plate of toast, golden with melted butter. Doyle disappeared again and returned almost immediately with another tray similarly laden.

He balanced it on the bedside table before climbing back into bed. Both men tucked into the food, companionably silent. Bodie finished the cooked breakfast and reached for some toast.

'Marmalade?'

Doyle passed the jar across. He finished his own food and lay back on the pillows. Bodie carried on, spreading the thick jam on his toast, and munching away contentedly. Doyle began to fidget.

'Crumbs!'

'Sorry.'

Bodie brushed away the few offending bits of toast and put his tray on the floor. He joined Doyle in lounging back in the warmth of their bed. Slowly his hand stole across to Doyle's chest, grazing his partner's nipples. Doyle held him with a steady gaze, a small smile touching his mouth.

'Lower.'

Bodie obliged.

For some time they stroked each other, skin on skin, tongue against tongue, before an urgency set in. Doyle paused in his ministrations of Bodie's cock and stared hungrily into the cerulean eyes.

'Shag?'

Bodie laughed quietly - a low rumble of desire beneath his merriment.

Doyle obliged.


End file.
